


The Good Days Outnumber the Bad

by sabaceanbabe



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, Post-Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 13:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3135623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/pseuds/sabaceanbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She hasn’t seen Peeta in almost six years.  He was only seventeen when they were both prisoners of the Capitol...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Days Outnumber the Bad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dispatchesfromdistrict7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dispatchesfromdistrict7/gifts).



> This was a birthday fic I wrote back in March of 2014 that I just realized was never posted anywhere but on Tumblr. Oops.
> 
> Kat wanted Peeta and Annie, post-Mockingjay - Annie and son are visiting K&P in District 12 and Annie and Peeta have a conversation - their own version of the fact that it’s amazing how life can be good again - considering their shared capitol experience.

“How much longer, Mama?”

Annie looks down at her little boy, still watching the scenery fly by outside the window. His sun-kissed dark hair is all her, but when he finally does tear his gaze away from the green woods and summer wildflowers through which their train passes, his tanned skin, his facial features, especially his sea-green eyes, are all Finnick. Ignoring a stab of longing for his father, she smiles.

“The train’s supposed to reach the station at two fifteen.”

“Not when, Mama,” he protests with a scowl. “How long?”

Annie laughs, which only makes the boy scowl harder. Riley’s hair is hers, his face is Finnick’s, but his single-minded stubbornness is all his own.

“We should be there in just a few minutes.” He narrows his eyes at her for a moment before sticking his nose back on the window, and Annie does her best to not laugh again, knowing how offended he’ll be if she does.

 _How in the world does a five-year-old get to be so suspicious?_ she wonders, but she has no answer for her own question. Settling back into the seat, she returns to watching out the window, too, waiting for the whistle to announce their arrival in District 12.

She hasn’t seen Peeta in almost six years. He was only seventeen when they were both prisoners of the Capitol and then later, in District 13 – not that she was much older, only five years – but so much can change in six years. They’d been through interrogations at the hands of Peacekeepers, and therapy and military training at the hands of doctors and soldiers in 13. They’d kept each other anchored when those outside forces had done their best to set them adrift, to separate them from everyone and everything familiar. At one time, they’d known each other so well, in spite of literally only knowing each other for just a few short months, but now she’s half afraid she won’t recognize him when they arrive at the station. Or worse, he won’t be there to meet them at all.

 _Don’t be ridiculous, Annie,_ she tells herself. _Peeta is your friend. He wouldn’t have invited us to visit if he didn’t mean it._ She pushes all her doubts and fears down and ignores them as they continue to clamor for her attention. Instead, with her son as an example, she looks out the window past his dark head and lets the leaves and the wildflowers – white and purple-blue and yellow – blend together in a stream of color. After only a handful of minutes, the trees and flowers no longer blend into a stream, but rather start to take on shape as individuals as the train begins to slow.

Restless passengers stand, stretching their arms and legs, gathering their things from the floor and from nearby storage compartments, but Annie stays where she is, suddenly feeling nervous. The train slows to a stop and the people around her move toward the front of the car, waiting for the door to open. Riley stays where he is, nose still glued to the glass as he searches the platform for a face he’s only ever seen in photographs.

“Mama!” He slips off the seat and cups both hands around his eyes to cut off distracting reflections. “Is that him?”

Annie leans closer until his hair tickles her chin. Scanning the people on the platform, she spots a young man with wheat-colored hair standing beside a young woman with dark hair pulled back into a braid draped over her left shoulder. Laying a hand on Riley’s thin shoulder, she gives it a squeeze.

“Yes, baby, that’s him. That’s Peeta, and Katniss is with him, too.” She breathes a sigh of relief, her breath tousling the boy’s hair; he bats a hand at her and squirms out of her grip. Neither Peeta nor Katniss look much different from the last time she saw them, at least not from this distance.

“C’mon, Mama!” Riley grabs her hand and tries to drag her out into the aisle; smiling, Annie lets him. All of their belongings are in a single suitcase and the stevedores – or whatever their land-bound equivalent is called – will unload it from the baggage car for them to pick up in a few minutes.

The fresh air outside the train hits her like a wall of scent and sound, so very different from home. The buzz of insects and human voices. The smells of the trees and the acrid smell of what Annie assumes is coal dust. An oily smell that reminds her of when they first boarded the train back in 4. Annie pats the pocket of her sweater, reassured that the letter Katniss’ mother gave her to give to her daughter is still there.

“Annie!” She looks toward the sound and sees Peeta smiling and waving in greeting as he starts toward them, Katniss following behind at a more sedate pace. She catches a quick glance from Katniss, who shakes her head fondly at Peeta’s enthusiasm just as he reaches Annie and Riley.

Annie finds herself wrapped in a hug, momentarily unable to breathe, but then Peeta releases her and turns to her son. “You must be Riley,” he says, holding out his hand for the little boy to shake, treating him like an equal. Riley just looks at Peeta’s hand for a second and then looks up at Annie as if to ask, Is this okay? The boy’s expression is filled with uncertainty when he looks back up at Peeta’s scarred face and then back down at his equally scarred hand. The scars have faded with the years, but they’re still there, permanent reminders of the firestorm that killed so many children when the bombs went off. It didn’t matter whether those bombs belonged to President Snow or President Coin; they still maimed and killed.

Smiling at her son, who knows nothing of war or crippling fear, Annie gives Riley a nod and he and Peeta shake hands as a smoky voice behind her says, “He looks like Finnick.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, chilled in spite of the warm summer sun, Annie turns toward Katniss. “I know. Sometimes I wish he didn’t.”

“You still miss him.”

Annie looks sharply at the younger woman. “Of course I do. I always will.”

Katniss blinks and her gaze slides to Peeta and Riley as she shoves her hands into her pockets. “Sorry. I guess I knew that.” She starts to say something else, but before she can do more than open her mouth, Riley runs over to her and throws his little arms around her in a smaller version of Peeta’s greeting to Annie. Katniss’ arms reflexively close around him as she laughs.

“I guess we pass muster,” Peeta remarks and Annie laughs, too.

“I guess you do.” Having received his mother’s approval of Peeta and his scars, Riley clearly has no problem with Katniss’.

They watch in silence as Riley grabs hold of Katniss’ hand and pulls her toward the end of the platform and a stand of those purple-blue flowers he was so smitten with when he first saw them through the windows. With a bemused glance toward Annie and Peeta, Katniss shrugs and allows the boy to lead her.

“Well.” Peeta smiles. “Do you have much luggage?”

“No. We’re traveling light, so just the one piece.”

The two of them set off toward the growing stack of luggage and boxes. “We’ve been looking forward to this visit since the moment I got your letter saying you’d come.”

“That’s good to know.” She doesn’t ask if Katniss is happy about their visit. It says enough that she’s here.

People stop what they’re doing to watch them, even standing aside to open a path, and it doesn’t take long to locate Annie’s lone suitcase. Riley is still dragging Katniss along behind him, stopping occasionally to point at something and ask questions, but Katniss doesn’t seem to mind.

“You look good, Peeta.” Older, certainly, but healthy, and there’s an air of contentment around him that she’s never seen before. He glances at Annie, but almost immediately his attention goes to Katniss. There’s a wistful look in his blue eyes as he watches her with Riley. “Does she know how much you want kids?”

For a moment he looks the way Riley does when she catches him red-handed doing something he’s not supposed to do, but then he relaxes, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “We’ve talked about it. She’s still not ready.” He shrugs, the sudden tension in his body giving lie to the nonchalance of the gesture. “Maybe she never will be.”

Annie nods. “Finnick and I talked about it. We decided we didn’t want to risk it, so long as there was a chance they could be reaped.” She leans back against the train station wall and looks past the dissipating crowd to the grass and trees beyond. Riley and Katniss are picking wildflowers; she laughs at something he says and then crouches down to look at something with him.

“She’ll be good with them, someday.”

“What about you, Annie? Are you good?”

She smiles. “Most of the time, yes. The good days outnumber the bad, I think.” She loses sight of Riley when he and Katniss pass behind an outbuilding.

“Yeah, they do. And when I do have a bad one, Katniss is there to help me through it. Or I’m there to help her.”

Again, Annie nods. “I’m glad, Peeta. That’s how it was with me and Finnick.” She can’t keep a hitch out of her voice when she says his name, the pain of his loss as sharp as the day Haymitch told her he was gone, and for a moment she thinks she might cry, but then Riley comes running toward them.

“They’re called chicory, Mama!” he shouts, waving a handful of purple-blue flowers as he runs.

“And now Riley helps me through it.” She laughs as Riley, bouquet in hand, hurtles into her arms. As she plants a kiss on the top of his head, Peeta lays his hand on her shoulder.

“You’re not alone, Annie.”

“I know,” she whispers into her son’s hair. “I know.”


End file.
